


you will never be alone (not as long as i'm here)

by thelostcolony



Series: Nothing I've Ever Known [3]
Category: Marvel, Spider-Man - Fandom, daredevil - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Dead Aunt May, Hurt Peter, Hurt/Comfort, Matt's Not Good At Comforting People (Except For When He Is), Other, This is the origin kind of, these really don't go in order
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-11 02:27:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5610469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelostcolony/pseuds/thelostcolony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt hasn’t been home for ten minutes from his patrol when he hears the familiar thwip noise and a quiet thud as a lithe body lands on the fire escape outside his bedroom window. His eyebrows raising, Matt clasps the lock on the trunk containing his suit and his father’s old possessions, pushing it back at the edge of his closet as he stands. Canting his head, Matt listens- usually Peter would have let himself in by now, boisterously declaring his presence before Matt can dissuade him.</p><p>"Peter?" He asks, concern rising, unbidden, in his throat.</p><p>“‘M fine,” says Peter quietly, sniffling, and his heart skips a little. He’s lying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you will never be alone (not as long as i'm here)

**Author's Note:**

> hey guys! I apologize for how obscenely out of order this series is- I'm just jumping around as ideas come to me. Meh, it's alright. I think it all works out. The way this is set up I don't know if I really need to go in any order, right? *sigh* anyway, this turned out to be a good more fluffy than I'd intended, but hey- who doesn't love a little hurt/comfort? 
> 
> I hope you guys aren't the exceptions and that you enjoy.

Matt hasn’t been home for ten minutes from his patrol when he hears the familiar  _ thwip  _ noise and a quiet thud as a lithe body lands on the fire escape outside his bedroom window. His eyebrows raising, Matt clasps the lock on the trunk containing his suit and his father’s old possessions, pushing it back at the edge of his closet as he stands. Canting his head, Matt listens- usually Peter would have let himself in by now, boisterously declaring his presence before Matt can dissuade him.

It’s Peter, certainly- if the  _ thwip  _ of his webs didn’t give him away then his heartbeat surely does, a steady drumming in Matt’s ears as he keys into it. He hears Peter’s head softly hit the window pane as he slumps against it, not even attempting to open it and barge inside, laying on the fire escape in simple defeat.

Unbidden, concern pricks at Matt before he can take a deep breath and calm himself. It’s not as if he hasn’t dealt with injured heroes before- he knows what to do. It’s just very out of place for Peter to simply lay there without making his presence known... perhaps he’s too weak to speak?

That thought spurs Matt into action and he grabs his medical kit, making his way to the window. Sure enough, he can hear the ice on the glass defrosting from the puff of Peter’s warm breath against it. 

“Peter?” Matt asks, but Peter doesn’t react- doesn’t give any indication that he’s heard Matt at all. With a small sigh, Matt gently begins to lift the window, the crackling noise it makes when he un-sticks it from where it’s frozen enough to make Peter jump.

“Peter,” Matt repeats and he senses Peter’s huge eyes focusing on him finally, a rustle as the teenager’s head turns. He doesn’t have time for pleasantries (not with the concern broiling in his gut) and clips, “Peter, how badly hurt are you?” He can’t smell any blood, but Peter is notorious for hiding his injuries, so Matt refuses to rely on only one source.

Peter sniffles, swiping at his nose in lieu of a response. Matt thinks it must be running from the cold. “‘M fine,” says Peter quietly, sniffing again, and his heart skips a little. He’s lying. 

There’s a soft rustle of fabric as Peter moves- he’s clutching something. Matt hesitates for a moment before he reaches out, his fingers brushing something soft and worn- it must be a blanket, the way it’s wrapped around Peter’s shoulders. It feels old and threadbare and kind, and it smells like Peter and perfume and something distinctly comforting, though Matt isn’t sure what.

Peter sniffles again and- in an almost shy and entirely involuntary reaction- gently tightens his grasp on it and brings it up so it covers his face, like he’s hiding from the world. In all the time that Matt has known him, Peter has never done something so vulnerable.

If there’s a blanket around his shoulders then he isn’t out on patrol- he’s probably not wearing the suit, even. Why would Peter risk being seen as a gangly teenager web-swinging to Matt’s apartment? Why would he risk them both?

Matt doesn’t have the patience or the time for Peter’s disillusioned notions of being a bother, too concerned with Peter’s well being to actually take them into account. Peter’s lack of a response is the most unnerving thing that has happened between them, and he knows that Peter can’t stay on this fire escape all night, so in a moment of unabashed paternity he wraps his arms around Peter’s slight form, lifting him through the window. Peter’s small and slight, his bones petite and thin- but tonight, curled up as he is already, he feels almost childlike folded up in Matt’s arms even as he places Peter on his bed.

The fact that Peter doesn’t protest this treatment like he usually would-  _ Matt, I’m not a baby, I can walk, put me down _ \- explains more to Matt than anything else ever could.

“Peter,” Matt murmurs once more, but Peter doesn’t respond, and when Matt tries to pull away his hands grab at Matt’s t-shirt and tangle in the excess fabric, clinging. Peter doesn’t tug, just sits there with his hands tangled in Matt’s nightshirt, but it’s enough, and Matt doesn’t move any further. He’s no good at this, comforting people- especially frightened teenagers. He hasn’t known Spider-Man for very long- has known him as  _ Peter  _ for even less. But he has to try.

“Hey,” Matt tries and sits down beside his younger friend, placing one hand at the back of Peter’s neck. Peter’s hands tremble where they press against Matt’s chest. “Peter. Look at me.” He can’t see Peter’s face, but he can imagine the way it morphs into reserved guilelessness, like he’s five and not fifteen. 

When he senses Peter’s gaze falling onto him finally, he reaches up and cups Peter’s cheek. It’s damp, like he’s bleeding, but when Matt drags his palm over Peter’s skin he finds no wound. Tears?

What’s happened, what’s going on?

“Peter,” Matt says once more, quiet desperation pitching his voice as he implores, “Peter, what’s the matter?”

The second of silence that follows lasts lightyears, and a dry sob falls from Peter’s lips as he unexpectedly tips forward, burying his face in Matt’s chest and tucking his head under Matt’s chin like it’ll hide him from the rest of the world. Matt’s too shocked and too desperate and too worried to care that this isn’t what he does and that he doesn’t know how to properly comfort; he acts on instinct as his arms come to encircle Peter’s petite form, Peter’s wiry muscles bunched and shaking with his silent sobs. His nose digs into Matt’s collarbone and it must hurt to press so hard, but Peter doesn’t seem to care as he shifts impossibly closer. Matt obligingly draws Peter towards to his chest, tucking his head further under his chin.

“Peter,” he says softly, the tension under his fingertips too much. “Let it go.”

With a wet sob, Peter allows himself to fall apart, hiccuping cries of anguish into the side of Matt’s neck, stifling them with Matt’s skin, warm against Peter’s cold cheeks. His shoulders heave with their force and Matt tightens his hold, trying to ground the teenager, to let him know that he is not alone and that Matt won’t let him fall, won’t let him go.

Matt doesn’t bother asking what’s happened, doesn’t bother with any sweet nothings. This is enough for Peter and it’s enough for him, and Peter’s more likely to open up without prompting than he is to do so with it. He doesn’t really understand why Peter has come to him- they’ve become close friends in the past few months, but Peter has always been more likely to seek out the company of peer heroes instead of adults. The fact that Matt is the person Peter has sought out is almost like an honor in a sense, though Matt would never say so.

Even though he doesn’t understand, Matt can roll with it. He knows Peter well enough by now, companionship borne of near death experiences and shared battles enough for the both of them that they can coexist well, be comfortable around each other. So Matt sits and waits and lets Peter cry it out, simply holding him up because he can’t do so for himself.

It’s a good while before Peter’s calm enough to take a deep breath, still coughing out tears. Matt is surprised Peter still has so many. “She-” he chokes, and  his fingers spasm where they’re tucked into the hollow of Matt’s collarbone, twisting around his shirt once more. “She- she’s dead, M- Matt-  _ Matt- _ ” there’s a keening noise low in Peter’s throat, the gurgle of another sob, another tear pressed against Matt’s skin. “I- I tried an’ I’m- I’m  _ alone- _ ”

“Shh,” Matt hushes when Peter can’t hold himself together, the meagre pieces that he’d managed to pick up shattering once more. “Shh, Peter. Breathe. Breathe. You’re not alone. I’m not leaving.”

“I don’t-” Peter gulps, “I don’t wanna be alone- she was all- she- all I had, and- and I couldn’t, I couldn’t let them take me, they want to _ give me away, _ I can’t, I don’t wanna be alone-”

“I’m here,” Matt says, and rests his cheek against the top of Peter’s head. “You’re not alone, you’re not alone; I’m here, and I’m not leaving you.”

“She- she’s dead, I-” Peter is gasping for words, for breath, for Matt; his hands are tugging, tugging, but they can’t bring him any closer. “M-  _ Matt-  _ she- she trusted me and I failed her, I failed her,  _ I failed her-” _

“She loved you,” Matt interrupts fiercely, his mouth thinning as his heart plummets. Of all the people who deserved death, May Parker had never been one of them. Matt hadn’t known her well, but he’d known that much. “She loved you more than life itself. You didn’t fail her. You couldn’t fail her.”   


“B-but-”

But Peter can’t say more, his mouth snapping shut as he shakes his head. If it’s out of shame or embarrassment, Matt can’t say.

They stay like this for an immeasurable amount of time- it could be minutes or it could be hours. Matt isn’t counting. The moments tick by at the same pace an injured bug might crawl across a table- haltingly, stutteringly, like time is ready collapse in on itself and sputter out. That’s somewhat how Matt himself feels.

Peter falls asleep with his face pressed to Matt’s chest, his cheek cushioned against Matt’s collarbone, his hair tickling Matt’s jaw. His hands slacken from where they’ve been lodged in Matt’s shirt, but Matt doesn’t dare move them. He isn’t cruel enough to do so.

He’s glad that they’re already on the bed- it saves him from unnecessarily jostling Peter. Supporting the back of Peter’s head, Matt lowers him to the mattress with all the care of someone handling fragile china, making sure Peter hasn’t woken. Then, he tucks the blanket more securely around Peter’s shoulders, takes off his webshooters and his shoes, and in an embarrassing moment of tenderness brushes back the bangs that fall into his eyes. 

His clock tells him it’s six AM, near time for the sun to come up, and as he draws the blinds to his bedroom and quietly makes sure the snick of the door doesn’t wake his young charge, he dials Foggy’s number.

“Foggy?” He says, and when there’s a grumpy half-aware hum at the other end of the line he decides to continue. There’s no way to say it, no way to break it what’s happened to Foggy. Matt wouldn’t be good at doing so even if there was. “I know it’s early, but I need you to do me a big favor. It’s about- it’s Peter. I... His aunt is dead.”

He can’t help the bluntness in his voice or the poor choice of his words- he’s too numb and too exhausted and too hurt to take them back. But they get Foggy upright, and when he speaks again he sounds much more alert.  _ “Oh my God. What can- how is- well, duh, he’s not... what can I do?” _

As much as Foggy will complain about Peter’s sass, he secretly loves having him around and genuinely enjoys the child’s company. He’s one of Foggy’s best friends- one of Matt’s- and there’s nothing they wouldn’t do for one of their own. Foggy himself would probably volunteer to do what Matt’s considering, under the circumstances. But that’s not how he and Foggy- nor how he and Peter- work. 

_ “What can I do?” _   Foggy repeats, impatient when he doesn’t get an answer. 

Matt takes a deep breath. He’s been running off of maybe two hours of sleep for the past three days, he’s just spent the majority of his night comforting a grief stricken teenager, he has literally no idea how to help, and his coffee machine is broken. He’s probably the least qualified for what he’s about to do, but he sure isn’t about to let Peter down. Not like this. Peter says Child Services are trying to put him into a foster home? Well, not on his watch. Matt isn't about to let that happen.

So he takes a deep breath.

“I need you to draw up adoption papers for me.”

****

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed, and please tell me what you think!


End file.
